Southern Winds
by icecreamlova
Summary: It's always hot, hot like the smothering heat of ancient, white Tharios, where my husband has left his heart - thousands of miles south and a decade away from now. From me.


**Southern Winds  
**_By icecreamlova_

- : -

In high summer, there is no better way to spend an afternoon than to linger on the coastline of the Syth. The sun beats down, but sharp winds wrack the water until saltspray washes over us, cool and refreshing against the choking heat. When I have the time, I take the children out, holding a packed lunch in a basket and planning out an afternoon that is for the three of us alone. We visit the beaches, with their sand dunes rising and falling in gentle slopes, free from servants, a rare commodity, and Keth... Kethlun never joins us.

My husband is not a romantic man. He is charming when he wishes to be, and his dry wit makes me laugh, but our kisses have been few and far between. I receive no gifts on our marriage anniversary. He tries, I will acknowledge that, but his mind seems a thousand miles away at every gesture, and no amount of persuasion will coax him onto the beach for a quiet stroll. I no longer wonder why.

At first, in the earlier days of our marriage, I thought it was the lightning that had scorched the fear of flat beaches and stormy skies into him. Everyone knows of his accident, more than a decade ago now, when Shurri Firesword's arrow caught him as he crested one of those dunes, and ripped his life away. He was a broken man; unable to speak, unable to move, barely able to blink and hide the intelligence in his eyes. Three and a half years removed from the accident, two of those spent in the far south that left wondrous tales he would not share, and Kethlun was still unwilling to revisit the site of his loss. No one blamed him, for the wise man does not taunt Lakik the Trickster when holding treasure, and Keth's newfound magic was considered precious indeed, so all applauded his wisdom and thought no more of it. Yet one afternoon, not in high summer, but in the depths of winter, snow coating the ground, I woke up early and found he had left his side of our bed. I should have known better. I still rose, careful not to disturb our infant daughter, and followed.

I watched from the window as he rode the winding path out of the town center and to the beach, before leaving the house to trace a path behind him. At that time, I hadn't been certain what to think of the changes in Kethlun Warder. We had been childhood companions, gently nudged together in social functions once our marriage was set in stone, but he had returned from his journeys a stranger; even more so than the invalid he had been while recovering from the lightning. I had seen the newfound steadiness in the solid lines of his body and in the calm patterns of his speech, like cooled glass after it had settled, and the response to beautifully spun pieces was still there, if tempered by disagreements with his family about the nature of his magic. But it had only been that secret moment, watching him standing alone at the beach, gazing into the endless sea and sky, that it hit me just how little I knew of the man I had wed.

Standing next to his tethered horse, I watched as his hand slid into a pocket and brought out a fine, yellow cloth, a veil, I soon realized. It was so thin and gauzy that winds made it ripple, a flash of vivid color against the gray rocks and dim sky. He held the veil as though it were a precious thing; a sentimental memory, or a keepsake from a treasured lover, as he had never treasured the tokens I gave him. It took me a moment to recall why the veil looked so familiar.

When I had been a small child, a traveling acrobat troop visited Dancruan, bringing bright colors as I had not seen before into the stark white and gray of northern Namorn. Keth had been my companion for the night, in fact, much to my dismay then, but he had been still and awed for once as we watched acrobats tumble, laughing gaily with each flip, smiling with every midair twist, faces flushed red with effort, as though the autumn was not at all cold. They had been streaks of yellow up on stage, vivid in a way only the most expensive dyes successfully mimicked, the gauze veils of the acrobats from Khapik fluttering gently when they landed in elaborate poses on the hard floor. So beautiful.

Oh yes, I recognized that veil, that fluttering beacon from a place in the world I had never gone, but had heard so much about... from Kethlun, and from the books I pursued after that day on the beach when I wanted to understand the man my husband had become.

I was not a sheltered woman. I knew fragile memories when I saw them, the sort that you only took out in a certain state of mind, because they were so delicate they could break, and take you along with it: in the bottom of a locked chest I kept tucked beneath my bed lay a silk red ribbon, whisked thousands of miles from the empire of the far east to land in my hand. Right before my eyes, in the pre-dawn chill, his mind had drifted away from that beach, away from the Syth, away from Namorn altogether, to the countries that sweltered with the heat of a glassblower's forge and to a city shining white with its purity.

The way he was standing, I could not see his face, watching as southern winds played with his keepsake, but I could well guess what I would see, if I could. I did know why it hurt both more and less than I had expected. Less, because I knew both the dangers that an engagement with a period of absence could bring and that the beauty of Khapik was in more than its four walls; and more, because I had expected more from the man who had been my companion from childhood... just as no doubt he had expected more of me.

My mind moved no distance at all, but drifted back to the first months of his return to Namorn, triumphant with his new magic and regained grace. He voiced no protest when the contract of our marriage was renewed, though I know now that they existed; I locked away my red ribbon and dismissed mine. But for all the secrets that had driven us apart, our reunion was smooth enough to be encouraging to the less perceptive observer, and our conversation flowed without complaint. He was quieter than I remembered; less arrogant. And just as I compared him to the shadow in the back of my mind, he was weighing my conversation and intelligence, not against the standards of a man who had seen the world, as I had thought then, but to a very real picture - a picture that left darkness in his eyes I did not notice when distracted with his glittering success.

That day on the beach, I wondered what his conclusion had been. Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly nostalgic, I still do, although it no longer truly bothers me.

In high summer, there is no better way to spend an afternoon than to linger on the coastline of the Syth. It's always hot, hot like the smothering heat of ancient, white Tharios, where my husband has left his heart - thousands of miles south and a decade away from now. He no longer takes walks on the beach, where the heat must bring back such memories, but his eyes turn glassy with remembrance, like he's reliving a beautiful dream, at the sight of the bright yellow of our oldest daughter's finest gown, when he thinks I cannot see. At night, locked in true dream, a name that does not belong to me lingers on his lips - Yali.

He respects and cares for me, and loves our children too much to be conspicuous about his wistfulness. He really does try. Maybe one day the winds will bring back what he has lost, or freely given, so long ago. Maybe one day the heat will bother him no more than the forge can, as I have learned to wear red again and smile. Maybe one day he'll join us on the beach so that everyone can see it, so that his lost love will be happy he is free; a true love would. Maybe someday.

I've done my part, although my reasons were not purely compassionate. That daybreak on the lonely beach, before he could turn around again to see me, or let me see his face, I closed my eyes, then spun on my heel and walked away.

But for now, the beach is for the three of us, mother and daughters, as we find relief from the baking heat by relaxing in saltspray and southern winds.

- : -

**END**

_R & R, please_

- : -

_No one blamed him, for the wise man does not taunt Lakik the Trickster when holding treasure, and Keth's newfound magic was considered precious indeed, so all applauded his wisdom._

Lakik the Trickster is the main trickster god around the Pebbled Sea and Namorn, and is the patron of the Syth, so it makes double sense for Keth, who has "won" magic, his treasure, from the lightning strike, to avoid the Syth.


End file.
